


Under the Weight of the World

by ladyannabethstark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alayne fic, F/M, Future Fic, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 06:52:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6460174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyannabethstark/pseuds/ladyannabethstark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jon comes to the Vale to arrest Littlefinger for his crimes, Alayne is called to testify on his behalf in the trial. As they travel to King's Landing, she finds it harder and harder to push Sansa Stark down, especially when Jon grows suspicious and tries to find out who she really is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for blackholeofprocrastination's birthday and I wanted to publish it here.
> 
> I will probably continue it at some point since I sort of leave it off at a cliffhanger.

Alayne woke to the sound of fighting. In a panic, she wondered if she was back in King’s Landing somehow. Hurrying to her window, she half-expected to see green fire illuminating Blackwater Bay. Then she remembered herself and where she was. It was hard to make out much of anything but she saw dark shapes moving through the courtyard and the clashing of swords reached her ears. Whoever was attacking, they were doing it from inside the castle. She hurried to her door, locking it before pulling on a light blue dress that laced in the front. There was a dagger beneath her pillow that she quickly retrieved, clutching it in her hand as she sat in wait. Briefly she wondered where Petyr was. Did he hide as well? Had he finally given her up to the Lannisters even after all these years? Were they here to kill her? Or would they take her to Cersei first so that the woman could have the satisfaction of seeing Alayne’s head taken from her shoulders. _She doesn’t want Alayne,_ a voice in her head told her. The sound of shuffling outside of her chambers pulled her from her thoughts. Then something began scratching at her door. Alayne wondered if someone was trying to cut their way through with a sword or an axe. But it did not sound like a human. They did not utter a word. Just scratching. With her heart racing in her chest, she crept towards the door and pressed her ear to it. Whomever, or whatever, it was did not cease, scratching intently. The sound of fighting was far off but Alayne heard a scream from the corridor.

“A monster!” the woman, likely a maid, cried out.

Her screams grew far away as Alayne straightened up with wide eyes, unlatching the door slowly. As she pulled it open, her suspicions were confirmed when she came face to face with the direwolf. His fur was as white as snow and splattered with blood as red as his eyes.

“Ghost,” she breathed, the dagger slipping from her fingers and clattering to the ground.

He leaned his head down, nudging at her hip. Alayne could hardly believe it, even as she stroked her fingers through his coarse fur. If he was here, that could only mean one thing.

“Where is he?” she whispered, realizing that there were tears running down her cheeks.

Ghost leaned his head into her hand, blinking slowly before turning away. Alayne reached down, picking up her fallen blade before walking out after him. His footsteps were silent and his ears were flat against his head as they walked through the Gates of the Moon. Everything had grown eerily quiet and Alayne wondered if the fight had ended as quickly as it started. Once they descended a winding set of stairs, voices reached her ears and Ghost began moving quicker.

“I am nothing but loyal to the crown.”

Alayne faltered in her steps as she heard the voice of her father from the Great Hall, lacking the usual confidence and cunning. He sounded terrified.

“You are loyal to no one but yourself,” Nestor Royce said, sounding furious. “I should have known that Lady Lysa’s death was your doing.”

“That is not the only death of which he is accused,” a new, familiar voice rose.

She felt Ghost’s cold nose bump her hand and it gave her the strength to move forward, stepping just through the doorway to see what was happening. Petyr was on his knees, two red-cloaked men standing over him. If she did not know any better, Alayne would think that they were Lannister guards. But _he_ would not be with the Lannisters. Finally her eyes found him, standing in the middle of the room, wearing all black and holding a bloody sword in his hand.

“You are stripped of all titles and lands at the behest of Queen Daenerys. You will be brought to King’s Landing to face her accusations,” Jon said.

His voice was full of anger and his eyes burned with hatred.

“He has committed crimes in the Vale,” Lord Nestor reminded Jon. “You could sentence him here and now, my prince.”

Jon stepped forward, staring Petyr down as he pressed his bloodstained blade against his throat.

“I will cut off his head,” he said, the words sounding like a promise. “But only when my aunt commands me to do so.”

Petyr was hauled to his feet as Ghost padded over to Jon, drawing the eye of all the horrified lords and ladies in the room. Alayne was frozen in place, watching as her father was hauled off. When he saw her, he looked as though he’d seen his saving grace.

“Alayne, sweetling, it will be fine. You know what to do, don’t you? Tell them what I’ve done. Tell them everything. You can save me.”

She watched as he went, still clutching her dagger so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“Alayne,” Myranda said, rushing over to her side.

She let her friend check her for injury, barely reacting when she pried the weapon away.

“I don’t understand,” she said, feeling almost dazed.

It was the truth. Last she heard, Daenerys Targaryen was facing defeat and now she was sitting on the throne. And Jon…hadn’t he been killed by his black brothers? She’d certainly wept for him. What else had Petyr been keeping from her? And what did he want her to tell them? Did he think that she could prove his innocence? Did he even have any innocence to speak of?

“You couldn’t have known. It all happened while you were still living in Gulltown.”

Alayne took her hand, squeezing it tightly.

“What is he accused of?” she asked, unable to tear her eyes away from the doorway he’d been dragged through.

“You do not want to know,” Randa said, pulling her in close. “Come, you should lie down.”

Alayne did not budge, searching out Jon once more. It was foolish to look him in the eye but she could not resist. Especially as he stared at her curiously, his sword sheathed and his head tilted slightly. There was no trace of the fury that took her by surprise before. He was taller than before and the years only made him more handsome.

“He was once the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Myranda whispered to her. “Now he is a Targaryen prince.”

“Targaryen,” Alayne breathed.

It all settled into place. Eddard Stark never named Jon’s mother. He always said Jon was his blood. A Stark in everything but name. Lyanna Stark died of a mysterious illness. Perhaps a complicated birth.

“We will gladly house you and your men here for as long as you wish,” Nestor Royce said, pulling her from her realization.

Jon looked away from Alayne to focus on the lord.

“We will take advantage your kindness for a night. Thank you,” he said.

“Only a night?” Lord Nestor questioned.

“The Queen is impatient for justice to be met,” Jon said, looking back at Alayne. “We must ride for the capital at once.”

She turned her face away from him, looking at Myranda.

“Perhaps I will lie down after all,” Alayne said.

Her friend nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to lead her out. As she left, Alayne felt his gaze on her and knew that this would not be the last time she saw him.

* * *

“You looked as though you’d seen a ghost when you laid eyes upon the prince,” Myranda said, watching as Alayne ran a brush through her hair.

“I saw my father arrested,” she said without hesitation.

Randa might have given her sympathy at the time but the night had come and gone and she did not like to remain curious.

“You do not know him?” her friend said.

“How would a bastard know a prince?” Alayne laughed, looking over her shoulder.

Myranda narrowed her eyes and reached out, tugging on a lock of her hair.

“He was not always a prince,” Randa reminded her.

Before she could say a word in response, a loud knock sounded on her door.

“Perhaps that is the prince you do not know,” Myranda said, crossing the room to open the door.

Alayne’s sigh was interrupted when she saw who stood there.

“Ladies,” Lothor Brune said, bowing to them.

She stood and looked at him curiously.

“What is it, my lord?” Alayne asked.

“You are called on to travel to King’s Landing, my lady.”

Alayne’s heart sank as she stood, setting her brush aside.

“What good am I in King’s Landing?” she asked.

“Your father is granted a fair trial,” he told her. “He has the right to witnesses and he’s chosen you.”

She let out a shaking breath. Did Petyr really think that it was a good idea for her to be taken back to King’s Landing? It had been years but there could still be dozens of people there who might recognize her. Was that his plan? Was she returning as Alayne? Or as Sansa Stark?

“How long do I have to prepare?” Alayne asked.

“Not long,” he told her.

Resigned to her fate, she glanced over at Myranda, who looked stunned at the news.

“Could you help me?” Alayne asked.

It was a heavy question. Apart from Mya, Myranda had been her one constant friend for the last few years. She held Alayne when Sweetrobin died and again when Harry had a terrible fall from his horse and lived only four short days after. They shared in everything. _Except for the truth,_ she thought. Myranda would likely learn of her masquerade from afar.

“Of course,” she said, giving Alayne a sad smile.

Lothor Brune waited as they packed two chests of clothing and other things that Alayne would need on the journey. Once they were finished, Myranda accompanied her as far as the Great Hall, giving her a teary hug.

“Goodbye my friend,” Alayne said.

“Perhaps we will see each other again,” Myranda said, pulling away.

She nodded, forcing a smile on her face. Without Petyr, there was nothing for her in the Vale. If she managed to survive King’s Landing once more, it was impossible to know where she would end up next. As she walked outside, Alayne shuddered against a chill in the air and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The first thing that she saw was Petyr. His face was devoid of emotion as they forced him onto a horse, his wrists bound together with shackles.

“My lady.”

Lord Nestor bowed his head to her as she turned.

“My lord. I must thank you for your hospitality,” Alayne said, curtsying to him. “You have been most kind.”

He gave her a smile before looking past her at her father.

“They want to keep you separate from him, Lady Alayne.”

“I understand,” she nodded.

It came as no surprise to her truly. And it was almost a relief. She did not want to discuss how to outwit the prince and his retinue. In fact, she did not want to talk about the prince with him at all. He would no doubt have a way for her to manipulate Jon. Alayne did not want to do anything of the sort.

“Let us get you mounted, my lady.”

She allowed Lord Nestor to help her onto her mare before looking down at him kindly.

“Thank you again,” Alayne said.

“Watch yourself in the capital. Tell the truth and they will have no reason to harm you,” he said.

His words were almost laughable as she wondered if he truly knew King’s Landing at all. The truth was not welcome in such a place. Only what people made the truth to be.

“It is improper for a lady to be traveling with a company of men alone,” Lord Nestor said, gesturing to two young women who were already mounted on horses.

Alayne recognized them as the daughters of two minor noblemen. Before she could protest, he gave her an imploring look.

“For your comfort, my lady. Please, it will give me peace of mind.”

She closed her mouth and nodded with a placating smile.

“I appreciate it, my lord.”

As Alayne turned to look at them, she took a deep breath.

“What are your names?” she asked.

“Lyessa,” one said.

She looked slightly older, with hair as dark as a raven’s feathers and hazel eyes.

“Eleanor,” the blonde said, her brown eyes sparkling happily.

They both looked at her with awe and Alayne had to remind herself that she had been this innocent once. She vowed to herself to protect them from harm.

“They are ready, my lady,” Lord Nestor said.

She nodded, swallowing hard and kicking her horse into motion.

“I wonder if the city is as beautiful as they say,” Eleanor said rode out of the gates of the castle.

“I suppose we shall see,” Alayne said, her eyes falling on Jon.

He did not wear fancy clothing. In fact, he was dressed much like the men who accompanied him, all in dark riding leathers with black cloaks over their shoulders. It was almost a relief, to see him looking less like a prince

“We shall see,” she murmured again.

* * *

Jon rode at the front of the company, as was his place. Even as Lord Commander, he led his men no matter where they went. Yet he could not help but feel the urge to fall behind. He felt the same strange pull to the dark-haired maiden that rose up in him in the Great Hall of the Gates of the Moon. It was not that she was beautiful, though that was certainly the case. Something about her face and those striking blue eyes of hers called to him.

“You’re falling behind, Your Grace.”

He let out a heavy sigh, looking over at Grenn with narrowed eyes. His friend was, of course, grinning like an idiot and Jon could hear Pyp chuckling from his other side.

“Jon,” he reminded him.

He refused to have any ceremony between him and his friends. He was no longer their Lord Commander. They could be unceremonious with each other once more, so of course they liked to tease him constantly about his recent rise to royalty. If Sam were here rather than at the Citadel, he would no doubt do the same.

“Seven hells,” Jon heard Pyp groan.

Looking over, he saw his friend swerving his horse around Ghost as the direwolf went running past them towards the back of the company. Turning around, he watched as Ghost bounded straight up to the same lady, unconcerned about startling her horse. To his surprise, she did not look frightened in the least, though her handmaidens shrunk away with wide eyes. Instead she gave Ghost a smile and reached out, briefly scratching his ears.

“He might’ve found someone he likes better than you,” Grenn said, watching the same thing.

“Stay here,” Jon said, his curiosity getting the best of him.

He urged his horse around the other riders, cantering towards the middle of the retinue where Ghost seemed perfectly happy to walk alongside the lady. When her eyes fell on him, they widened and her pink lips parted slightly. Something tugged at the edge of his mind, urging him to remember. To know why she looked like he had met her a thousand times before.

“Your Grace,” she greeted him, her voice soft and sweet.

“My lady,” he said, trying to find the words to speak as he rode alongside her. “I apologize if he is bothering you.”

“On the contrary, my prince, I find his company to be rather delightful,” she said, smiling once more as they both watched Ghost trot away to find something more amusing than the two of them.

“He seems to agree,” Jon said.

This time her smile was directed at him but it quickly faded away as she averted her gaze.

“I also apologize for what you had to see last night. If I had known that his daughter was in the room, I would not have acted as I did,” Jon said, nodding at Littlefinger.

He might have hated the man after hearing his many crimes, but he felt sympathy for her.

“No daughter should see her father treated like that,” he continued.

Her face was stricken as she looked over at him and he panicked to see tears gathering in her eyes.

“I’ve had reassurances that you were not part of his crimes,” Jon rushed to tell her. “You will be cared for even if he is found guilty in trial.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “You are very kind.”

There it was again, the aching familiarity that would drive him mad.

“Have you ever been in the North, my lady?”

She avoided his gaze once more, her back straight and her eyes focused forward.

“I was born in Gulltown and raised in a house of the Faith there, Your Grace,” she told him.

Jon frowned, though he did not say a word to contradict her. It wasn’t so much that he knew that she was lying but something about the way she recited the words made it sound rehearsed. There was something about this lady that was not as it seemed and Jon felt the overwhelming need to discover what it was.

“I will let you get back to your riding, my lady,” he said.

“Your Grace,” she said, bowing her head.

He felt her eyes on him as he rode back up to the front.

“What was that about?” Grenn said.

“I’m not certain,” Jon replied, unable to shake the uneasy feeling in his gut. “But I think that I know her.”

“Littlefinger’s bastard?” Pyp questioned with a laugh.

Jon did not reply, looking back at her once more. He did not know how or even who she was but he was determined to find out. Because if there was one thing he did know, it’s that she was not Petyr Baelish’s daughter. Her father was under arrest and she was smiling fondly at something her young handmaiden said.

“Watch her,” he said.

“You want us to spy on her?” Grenn asked, sounding disbelieving at what he thought Jon was asking.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I would see her arrive safely in King’s Landing. Watch her.”

“Put Satin on it,” Pyp suggested, nodding at the young man who was closer to the back of the group. “She’ll like him better than us.”

Jon nodded, appreciating his brothers more than ever.

* * *

Alayne watched as a young girl poured hot water in a basin before leaving the small chamber. They had stopped at an inn for the night and she was given one of the few rooms available. The rest were sleeping in tents just outside of the village. Petyr was among them.

“It is very kind of the prince to purchase a room for you,” Eleanor said.

“We are the only ladies in his company. It is only proper,” Alayne said, stepping out of her rider habit.

“I think that it is both,” Lyessa said as Alayne she helped slip on a simple dark green woolen gown. “Perhaps it is proper and kind.”

It was a dream, a line from a song. Something that a naive little girl with no knowledge of the world would say. Alayne felt sorry for her.

“He is very handsome, my lady,” Lyessa said with a smile.

“And princes need wives,” Eleanor continued, giggling lightly.

Alayne longed for Myranda’s presence. She would likely make a bawdy joke instead of suggesting frivolous things. But her handmaidens were young, younger than her, and all too pleased to be traveling to King’s Landing. She could forgive their giddiness and hope that they did not lose the light in their eyes.

“If he does marry, it will not be to a bastard,” Alayne said.

“Nor will it be to a girl from a minor house in the Vale,” Lyessa teased.

“Well that excludes you as well,” Eleanor said, throwing a stocking her way.

Alayne sighed, reaching between them to grab it away.

“Go wash up a bit,” she suggested, nodding at the basin.

They did as she said, both of them looking around with wide eyes when a knock came on the door. Alayne was the one to open it. She somehow knew who would be on the other side but her heart still managed to skip a beat when she saw him.

“Your Grace,” she said, curtsying to him.

Lyessa and Eleanor echoed her, sounding awed at his presence.

“Is everything alright?” Alayne asked.

“Yes,” Jon said with a nod, glancing over her shoulder. “I only wanted to make sure that you are comfortable, my lady.”

She smiled in spite of herself and nodded.

“It is very kind of you to ask,” Alayne told him.

A flush rose in his cheeks and her smile grew. Jon always reacted thus when paid a compliment, or really when a girl talked kindly to him at all. Beth and Jeyne loved to tease him with it. Alayne could not help but let out a soft laugh that earned a look of surprise from him.

“My apologies,” she said, covering her mouth.

“I know that laugh,” Jon said, searching her face. “I know you.”

Alayne’s smile grew nervous and she knew that the color must have drained from her face.

“Perhaps I remind you of another lady,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “There are many of us in this world, Your Grace. I am hardly notable enough to stand out.”

Jon opened his mouth but did not get a chance to say his piece as one of his one of his men hurried up the inn stairs and asked for his attention. Alayne let out a soft, relieved sigh at the interruption, glancing back at Eleanor and Lyessa to see them looking at her curiously.

“Her father wants to see her,” she heard the other man murmur.

Alayne could not help but look at them with wide eyes.

“No,” Jon said. “Her testimony on his behalf should be truthful. I won’t have him finding a way to influence her.”

She almost felt relief at his words.

“Pardon us, Your Grace. We are all hungry,” Alayne said.

“Of course,” Jon said.

She nodded at Lyessa and Eleanor before moving past him to walk towards the stairs.

* * *

“Who is she?”

Littlefinger gave him a smile that did not reach his eyes. It was unnerving, to say the least.

“My daughter, Your Grace. A bastard, just as you were once.”

“You know, there is a benefit to growing up a bastard,” Jon said, stepping closer to him as he lowered his voice. “Can you guess what it is?”

“You never have to concern yourself with the burden of a lordship?” Littlefinger asked with a smirk.

“You become very observant, especially when it comes to people,” Jon corrected him. “And especially when people are lying.”

Baelish didn’t say anything, not that Jon expected him to.

“You are a very good liar, Baelish. Possibly one of the best I’ve met. But she is not.”

Jon nodded at Alayne, who was sitting on the side of the road with Satin and her ladies. They were all laughing at something Satin said.

“And what lies has she told you?” Littlefinger asked.

“Many of them,” Jon said simply. “But I’ve also noticed something in her eyes when she does. She wants me to know that she is lying. She wants me to find out whatever truth _you_ have convinced her to hide.”

Baelish shook his head with a laugh.

“You have an active imagination, Your Grace,” he said.

“That’s true,” Jon nodded. “But I intend to find the truth of things. See, I waited nearly twenty years to learn the truth of my parentage. I can be very patient, Baelish. And sooner or later, I will find this truth too.”

With that he walked away, feeling rather satisfied.

* * *

“You’re rather good at this,” Alayne said, remaining perfectly still as Satin braided her hair.

They were resting at the side of the road. She sat atop a boulder as the steward stood behind her and brushed his fingers gently through her hair.

“I always did this for the women at the whorehouse. They taught me,” Satin said.

Lyessa and Eleanor gaped at him but Alayne simply smiled. It was refreshing to be around someone so honest and unembarrassed of his past. His hands were gentle and he constantly made her laugh. She could not have been more thankful for his presence, even knowing how it came about. Satin did not hesitate to tell her why he approached her the second day of her journey. Alayne might have been offended that Jon told someone to watch her but the fact is that she’d felt safer on this journey than she had since Ned Stark died on the steps of Baelor’s sept.

“Being useful I see,” one of Jon’s men said, stopping before he passed.

There was a grin on his face as he looked at Satin. Alayne recognized him as Grenn, one of the ones that stuck closest to Jon. He was one of three black brothers that accompanied Jon now, and one of three that had nothing to do with the mutiny.

“More useful than you,” Satin replied, unbothered as he wound a few flowers through her braided hair.

“Now be fair to him,” Alayne said, smiling up at Grenn. “It’s not easy pleasing a woman and I daresay that I haven’t had a moment of dissatisfaction since I met dear Satin.”

Satin let out a laugh as Grenn looked away with a grumble.

“It looks beautiful, my lady,” Lyessa said, admiring Alayne’s hair.

“I’ll do yours as well,” Satin offered with a grin.

As her ladies giggled, Alayne caught sight of Jon walking away from Petyr, who was smiling in that way he did. She stood up quickly as her heart flipped.

“You two can stay here,” she told Lyessa and Eleanor before pointing at Satin. “And you…behave.”

He winked at her and she couldn’t help but smile before hurrying over to Jon’s side.

“Your Grace,” she said.

Jon turned to look at her.

“Lady Alayne.”

She curtsied low and heard his heavy sigh.

“Please, you don’t have to do that,” Jon said, reaching his hand out to her.

Alayne took his hand, straightening up.

“Would you walk with me, Your Grace?” she asked.

He looked surprised but nodded, allowing her to take his arm.

“My father…” she took a deep breath before continuing. “You don’t trust him, do you?”

“I was told not to,” Jon said.

“You shouldn’t,” Alayne said quickly, startling them both. “Don’t ever trust him, no matter what he says. He is clever, Jon. His words are his weapons. I fear what will happen if he is allowed to use them.”

Her breaths came out quickly as she finished speaking and she knew for a moment that Sansa had taken over. And she was not the only one who noticed. Jon was staring at her with wide eyes as his fingers brushed over her chin to lift her head. She nearly leaned her head into his touch but caught herself just in time. _Not now,_ she scolded herself. _You need to be Alayne. She is stronger._

“Who are you?” he said, searching her face.

There, behind his eyes, she could see longing and desperation. He needed to know. Why was she so afraid to tell him? _It’s safer to be Alayne. That’s why._

“Believe me, the truth would break your heart,” she told him, pulling her arm away.

He let her go, rooted in place by her mysterious words.

* * *

“Seven hells.”

Pyp was barely able to utter the words before Jon was upon him again, slashing and stabbing. It was supposed to be a simple sparring session. Yet he found himself taking every bit of frustration and anger of the past several moons out on his friends. That and they were waylaid by one of Alayne’s ladies who found herself with a bout of sickness. He was impatient to finish the final week of their journey.

“Yield!”

He stopped short, breathing heavily and brushing the hair out of his face.

“What’s gotten into you?” Grenn said, staring at him with disbelief.

Jon didn’t answer, accepting a skin of water from his squire.

“It’s Lady Alayne,” Pyp said, wiping at his face with his discarded shirt. “She’s driven you mad.”

Jon gave him a dark look before picking up his own shirt.

“I’m tired of traveling,” he said, wiping at the back of his neck. “I’m tired of Littlefinger and I’m tired of horses and…I’m just tired.”

“Not very princely of you, all this complaining,” Grenn taunted.

Jon resisted the urge to throw something sharp or heavy his way. His body pulsed with anger and frustration as he tossed his shirt to the ground and slashed his sword through the air.

“Come on then,” he said, looking at the other two.

They both shook their head at once.

“I’m done for the day,” Pyp said, backing away.

“And besides, we’ve got an audience,” Grenn said, nodding over his shoulder.

Jon turned around to see Satin leading Lady Alayne towards them, Ghost trailing just behind them. Her eyes were locked on him and the closer they got, the more horrified she looked. It took a few moments for Jon to realize that her eyes were fixed on his bare chest and abdomen. More specifically, on the scars that decorated his skin. As she reached him, he saw tears gathered in her eyes and felt confused and exposed.

“My apologies,” Jon said, reaching for his shirt.

She stepped forward, shaking her head as she laid her hand on his arm.

“Jon.”

His head snapped up and he looked her in the eyes. She was looking at the scars surrounding his eyes now and Jon wondered what she saw in them. Were they dead to her, as they often seemed to him? Did she see the anguish he felt when he thought of his time in the North, both at the Wall and beyond it? Did she fear him?

“Oh I wish this hadn’t happened to you,” she said, blinking away her tears.

“I survived it,” Jon reminded her.

Her blue eyes met his and she tilted her head slightly.

“At what cost?” Alayne asked, her lip quivering as she brushed her fingers over a scar on his chest.

Jon reached up and took her hand, pulling it away from him. But he did not let it go, holding it between them.

“Lady Alayne!”

She startled and pulled away from him, turning to face her two approaching ladies. The ill one looked much better. In fact, they were both smiling widely.

“Might we go to the Trident? It’s very close!”

“Why would you want to do that?” Alayne asked.

“To look for rubies of course!” the other said.

All at once, Alayne and the two younger girls froze, looking at him with wide eyes. Jon knew why but he could not bring himself to feel pained at the reminder of Rhaegar Targaryen’s death. He knew that the man was his father but it was hard to feel sad about someone he’d never even known.

“We can delay for a while longer, Lady Alayne. It will take a while to get everyone ready,” Jon told her.

“Are you certain?” she asked.

He nodded his head and she smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. It was not like Littlefinger, who never looked genuine. She simply looked sad.

“Come on.”

Jon watched her walk off with Satin and the handmaidens before pulling his shirt on over his head.

“You should go with them,” Grenn suggested. “We can get the rest of the men ready.”

Jon looked over at him with a frown.

“I might not have known the man but I’m not sure that I want to see the spot where he was killed,” he said.

“I just wonder if perhaps Lady Alayne wouldn’t mind your presence,” Grenn shrugged.

Jon watched as he and Pyp walked away before turning his head to look at Alayne’s retreating back.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbled, tugging his shirt over his head and sheathing his sword.

He walked after them, making his steps slow enough that he didn’t reach them until they were at the Trident. The water was calm and the grass was greener than an emerald. It was beautiful, even Jon could see that. As Alayne’s ladies ran for the edge, she turned her head and caught sight of him, looking surprised.

“I did not expect you to come with us,” she said, walking over to stand by his side.

“I’m not sure why I did,” Jon said, looking around.

Was it here that his father died? Did Robert Baratheon drive him into the water? Did he even have a chance of winning the fight? Was his mother already dead by the time the rubies were scattered across the bank of the Trident?

“It must feel strange,” Alayne said.

“Yes,” he nodded, unable to deny it. “I’m not sure what to think about it.”

She reached out to his surprise, squeezing his arm lightly.

“I’ve been here before,” Alayne told him, looking around. “I lost something very dear to me. I know how it feels.”

The words sparked something in Jon and he remembered Tyrion Lannister saying something about the Trident and Castle Darry on a late night in King’s Landing over wine and a card game. It had been the first time they could truly speak after the war with the White Walkers. Things were finally settling in Westeros and Jon wanted to speak with his old friend. Tyrion had been telling him the truth of his marriage to Sansa when he brought up what he knew about her direwolf.

_“Poor thing,” Tyrion said before taking a long drink of wine. “Both of them. My sister was callous when it came to your sist-cousin…but I doubt she ever quite surpassed this particular cruelty. I heard that her father, your uncle, did it to save the direwolf from Ilyn Payne’s blade. That was the first truly terrible thing my family did to Sansa Stark.”_

Jon looked over at the woman beside him, finally seeing her with new eyes. He wondered how he had not seen it before. Her hair was dark and her body had changed but he could see it now. Her blue eyes were familiar. They lacked Robb’s easy humor or Bran’s mischievousness but he could still see the Tully in them. Her laugh. Ghost’s interest in her. The rare times she had sung on their journey, her voice filling him with sadness and longing. It was all falling into place.

“Sansa?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Jon discovering her secret, Sansa has to decide who she wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that I've changed the number of chapters because I decided that I couldn't finish this off well in just two. You'll probably see more from this verse but it won't be a long chapter fic. Maybe just up to five or six.

Running was the worst thing that she could have done. Jon called after her, using the name that she hadn’t heard in so long, but she still did not turn back. Faces, both alarmed and confused, were a blur as she darted through the camp with her dressed pulled up to her ankles and her mind set on being alone as quickly as possible. Once she was in the small set of chambers that Lord Darry set aside for her, she closed the door and latched it, breathing heavily from her sprint. Her gown suddenly felt too tight and the room far too small. She pressed a hand to her chest and paced the now empty bedchamber, remembering that they were set to leave shortly and all of her belongings were already packed away.

_“Sansa?”_

Jon had looked surprised and relieved all at once. She knew that he would figure it out. After all, she wasn’t exactly making it hard for him. But she did not know if that name belonged to her anymore. She’d been Alayne for so long and Sansa had such a terrible history. Did she want to be her? Could she backtrack and assure Jon that no, she was not his sister-turned-cousin. She was not Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark was dead. But then again she was not. Was it fair to lie to him even more than she already had by not telling him that she was in his midst the entire time. She caught sight of herself in the looking glass, her dark hair slipping out of the coiled bun at the nape of her neck and her cheeks filled with color. It was shame felt. For running from Jon. For lying to him. For pretending to be Petyr’s daughter all this time when he had committed so many terrible crimes. She could not feign ignorance. He had become quite transparent with her, both about his past and about his intentions, towards her and towards Westeros.

“Who are you?” she whispered to herself.

She did not know the answer. Sansa or Alayna. She had to choose. A loud knock sounded, startling her from her thoughts.

“My apologies, milady. I’ve been sent to tell you that we’re leaving.”

It was one of Jon’s men. She did not know if it was a relief or a disappointment that he did not come himself.

“Yes alright,” she called in return, smoothing out her dressing and pinning her hair back into place.

She left the room behind, regaining her composure before walking out into the yard. Lyessa and Eleanor were already mounted, both of them looking at her with concern.

“Are you well, my lady?” Eleanor asked.

She nodded, slipping on her riding gloves and murmuring her thanks to the groom as he helped her onto her horse. Jon was nowhere to be seen. She wondered if he even wanted to look at her now that he knew.

_“Believe me, the truth would break your heart.”_

She meant the words when she spoke them. She was not Robb or Arya or Bran or Rickon. She was not her father. She was not any of them. They were all dead and she was left behind. A silly little girl. A coward. A bastard. Jon would not want her anymore than the rest of Westeros. Sansa Stark did not matter in this new world. Perhaps choosing Alayne would be better after all.

“You gave the prince quite a fright,” Lyessa said as they rode out. “He called after you.”

“He wasn’t calling me,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “He was calling a ghost.”

* * *

Now that they were closer to King’s Landing, it seemed that the entire company rode a bit faster, eager to be off the road. Alayne and her ladies were no different. The journey was taking its toll. She did not admit to the hint of dark pleasure that unfurled in her chest each time she saw Petyr and he looked a bit more gaunt than usual. The longer she was away from him, the more she broke away from his influence and saw the truth of him. At least he was not deriving any joy from the march to his death. Alayne knew that he was certain she would take up his cause but the longer they went without speaking, the less confident he became that she would speak in his defense. For all his crimes, known and unknown, it was the least that he deserved. But then she thought of Jon, and how he’d avoided her ever since their conversation at the Ruby Ford, and wondered if she was getting what she deserved as well. No one had so much as uttered the name Sansa Stark until one night when her ladies grew bolder than they had ever been.

“Who is Sansa?” Lyessa asked as they ate around a small table together.

Sansa nearly dropped her spoon at the mention of the name.

“No one important,” she said dismissively.

“Satin says that she’s important to Prince Jon,” Eleanor said, sounding just as curious.

Alayne sighed, wondering if she’d brought this on herself by allowing her ladies to be quite familiar with her. They did not fear her reaction if they questioned her. No highborn lady would ever endure it without reprimanding the two young ladies.

“Sansa Stark,” she finally said before taking a long drink of water.

She saw Eleanor and Lyessa exchange looks out of the corner of her eye.

“I’ve heard of her,” Lyessa said, sitting up straighter.

“Everyone has. I heard that she had beautiful red hair and eyes as blue as the sky,” Eleanor claimed.

Alayne tucked a lock of her brown hair behind her ear.. The color was growing more and more dull and she knew that it was fading quickly. There was not enough time to find more dye before they left the Vale. Her natural color would soon shine through .

“Do you know her?” Lyessa asked.

The lie was on the tip of her tongue. All she had to do was put an end to their curiosity and that would be that.

“She disappeared long ago,” Alayne said instead, looking down at her food. “Many think that she died, or that she escaped to the Free Cities.”

“I wonder what truly happened to her,” Eleanor said.

Alayne did not say anything, hardly noticing as the two ladies spoke aloud of what might have happened to Sansa. When she finally finished eating and dressed in a nightshift, Alayne sent them away to their own room and laid in the straw bed wide awake. Jon was somewhere out in the camp, in a tent unfit for any man of royal blood, though he would not take a finer tent than any of his men. Perhaps he’d already convinced himself that he made a mistake, that she could not possibly be Sansa Stark. Did the thought sadden him? Had he hoped for her to be his long lost cousin? She wanted to chase the thoughts away and scold herself. The world was cold and harsh. Dreaming of fantasies would not do her any good. But the world had also brought them together again when it seemed impossible that she’d ever see Jon after he left to go to the Wall. So many circumstances, so many decisions and happenstances, all took place and brought him right to the place where she’d hidden for years. She could hardly dismiss it all as coincidence.

“Tomorrow,” Alayne said aloud, hardly able to believe that she was allowing herself to hope. “I will see what happens tomorrow.”

* * *

The sky was dark grey and threatening when she walked out of the inn with Lyessa and Eleanor just behind her. Satin was waiting for them, a slight frown on his face.

“Is everything alright?” she asked him, her brow furrowing with concern.

“There’s going to be rain,” he said, looking up towards the sky.

Alayne nodded, pulling her cloak tighter around her as the wind picked up.

“Perhaps we should go back inside, my lady,” Eleanor suggested, shuddering at the cold.

She and Lyessa both looked unhappy.

“Will we be leaving soon?” Alayne asked.

“I’m afraid so, milady,” Satin said with a nod. “The queen is impatient for us to reach the capital. Jon got a message from a rider last night.”

He did not tell her what was in the message but she could only imagine. Monarchs, no matter what family they were from, never had much patience.

“Then we should mount our horses and prepare,” Alayne said reluctantly.

They would endure, even if it began to rain, but her two ladies looked positively miserable at the thought. Satin ushered them over to the stables, at least to get them under some sort of roof and ordered the boys to hurry and saddle their three horses. They had no sooner pulled their riding gloves on before Alayne saw someone walk into the stables out of the corner of her eye. Jon looked hardly ruffled by the weather and she knew that he, and all the men with him, endured far worse north of the Wall. She would hardly complain about a little wind in their presence. He faltered when he saw her but quickly recovered.

“I apologize,” he said quietly, avoiding her eyes. “I wish that we could avoid this but…”

She reached out, her heart racing in her chest as she touched his arm lightly.

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” she assured him.

His eyes lifted and she saw uncertainty and hope in them. The burden on her shoulders lightened considerably when she saw no resentment there. Jon reached out, tugging the hood of her cloak over her head. Once her hair was hidden and all he could see was her face, she saw that same spark of recognition. She resisted the urge to fidget beneath his gaze.

“There are a great many lemons in the capital,” Jon said.

She tilted her head to the side.

“Lemons?”

He nodded, his cheeks coloring as he quickly spoke again.

“My aunt has them brought from Dorne. She has a fondness for rich, flavorful foods but I am certain that I can convince her to set a few aside,” Jon said, sounding a little more certain of himself. “For lemon cakes.”

She blinked several times, his words taking her by surprise. Then she couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face.

“I love lemon cakes,” she said.

“I know,” Jon told her.

Someone outside of the stables called to him and he looked over his shoulder for a moment before returning his gaze to her.

“Let my men know if you need anything. It will not be an easy journey today,” he said, looking quite serious again.

“Thank you,” she told him, lowering into a curtsy.

Jon nodded at her, bowed to her ladies, and clapped Satin on the shoulder before walking out again, leaving her without a single care for the dark clouds outside.

* * *

As predicted, it rained down on them, quite heavily at times, until they finally reached a village only a two days’ ride from King’s Landing. They were ushered straight into an inn and sat in front of a fire while their trunks were found and brought to them. Sansa cared far less for herself than her ladies, soothing them both as they shivered violently.

“My mother’s chambers used to be the warmest in the whole castle,” she said, distracting them as she peeled their cloaks away and rubbed at their cold hands with her own. “On the coldest nights, I would always find myself there. She’d wrap me in her furs and reminded me that I could endure the cold. It was in my blood.”

“Does it get that cold in Gulltown?” Eleanor asked, her teeth chattering.

Sansa shook her head, brushing her damp hair out of her face.

“No I can’t imagine that it does,” she said, smiling at them both.

With that, she stood and asked for three hot baths before either of them could question her. Once they were all warmed, bathed, and fed well with hot stew, she found herself sitting by the window watching the tents. The rain ceased long ago and she felt relieved that they would not have to endure that through the night. Then a knock came on her door and she opened it to see Jon standing there, dressed in dry clothing.

“I hoped to speak to you now, before we reach King’s Landing,” he said.

She nodded, relieved that she was dressed in a clean woolen dress rather than her nightclothes. Peeking in on her ladies, Sansa saw that they were sleeping and did not wake them.

“I wish that I’d insisted they stay home,” she admitted as she and Jon walked downstairs to the quiet tavern. “They aren’t used to such a journey. It’s exhausted them quite a lot.”

“Satin tells me that they are thrilled to see the capital. I’m sure the journey is worth it for them,” he said, leading her to an empty table.

There were only a few scattered villagers in the room, most of them looking like they were ready to leave anyway. The rest were Jon’s men, most of them there to protect him.

“I’ll be riding ahead of the company tomorrow. I’m only taking a few of my men. We’ll reach the capital by nightfall without the wagons slowing us down,” Jon told her.

The innkeeper brought them two cups and a flagon of wine rather than mead as she let his words sink in. Jon poured some out for them both before speaking again.

“A majority of my men will stay with you… and with Baelish,” he said Petyr’s name darkly, as if he wouldn’t let him out of his sight under normal circumstances.

“Is something wrong?” Sansa asked, wondering why he would ride ahead of them when they were so close.

Jon hesitated, looking away from her.

“I must prepare the queen,” he said quietly.

She realized what he meant at once.

“You’re going to tell her,” Sansa said.

“She won’t like being surprised,” Jon said, meeting her eyes again. “It is better that she knows before you ride into the city.”

“She would hardly notice me,” Sansa said, knowing how well she could blend in if she wished.

It was one of many things that Petyr taught her.

“Sansa,” Jon sighed, shaking his head.

She felt a mixture of satisfaction and fear run through her when he spoke her true name. It was still strange to hear it. Shedding Alayne was far more difficult than she thought, as she was reconciling herself now with the Sansa of long ago. They were no longer separate people.

“I left King’s Landing accused of kingslaying,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Tyrion Lannister is Hand of the Queen now. You have both been deemed innocent of those charges,” Jon assured her.

“And does Tyrion Lannister wish to claim me as his wife?” Sansa demanded, fearing the worst answer.

“The queen absolved your marriage.”

She couldn’t help but twist her hands nervously. Entering King’s Landing as Alayne was hard enough. Entering the city as Sansa Stark was simply terrifying now.

“She has no love for Starks, does she?” Sansa asked.

“She named me as her heir,” Jon said.

“You’re her nephew. I have no such relation to her.”

He reached out, stilling her hands by grasping them both in his.

“She bears no ill will towards you but even if she did, you have to know that I would protect you,” Jon said, staring into her eyes.

Sansa took a deep breath, nodding at him before taking a long drink of her wine.

“You told me that the truth about you would break my heart,” he said, reminding her of her words. “Why?”

She hesitated, looking away from him.

“I’m not them,” Sansa admitted, staring at the well-worn wood of the table. “I’m not any of them. I imagine that I’m the last of our family you’d like to see again.”

Jon sighed, saying nothing for a while before his fingers finally brushed her cheek and she looked up at him again.

“I thought that you were dead, Sansa, just like the others. To me, it is nothing less than a miracle that you are sitting here in front of me alive.”

She felt tears burning her eyes but refused to let them fall as she pressed her hand over his.

“I think that this is the most that we’ve ever talked,” Sansa admitted, more than slightly ashamed of the fact.

A hint of a smile formed on Jon’s face.

“Perhaps we are setting a new precedent,” he suggested.

She nodded, hoping so as well. They sat there for a while longer, neither saying much of anything. It wasn’t the time to share their experiences.

“Soon the world will know that Sansa Stark is alive,” she contemplated as she reached the bottom of her cup of wine. “Which seems rather daunting since I’ve only just come to terms with it myself.”

Jon squeezed her hand that was still entwined with his.

“You won’t be alone,” he said.

The words were far more comforting than he knew.

* * *

The next morning, Sansa knew that Jon and his men rode out before dawn. She did not like that he was gone so soon after their reconciliation but she knew that she would see him very soon. It made it much easier when she saw Ghost waiting for her as soon as she stepped outside. Sansa knew that Jon had left him there on purpose. When Satin walked up to her as she walked out of a merchant’s shop with a small pouch in hand, he bowed almost exaggeratedly low. Lyessa and Eleanor both laughed at him but he looked unashamed when he straightened up.

“We are ready when you are, Lady Stark.”

Sansa’s eyes widened when he said the words and she could just feel the shock of her ladies.

“Has he told everyone?” she asked, taking his arm as she tucked her purchase away in her satchel.

“Only the lucky ones,” he said.

“Lyessa and Eleanor did not know,” Sansa told him.

He looked over his shoulder at the two before meeting her eyes.

“Well it seems that they do now,” Satin said, doing his best to look guilty.

It was not convincing, considering he likely rarely felt guilty for anything.

“You are lucky that you’re charming,” Sansa said.

“I am blessed with far more than charm, milady,” he said with a grin.

She barely kept herself from smiling, inwardly relieved that he treated her no differently now than he had before. When she commented on it as they reached the rest of the group, he simply shrugged at her.

“I treat Jon the same, bastard or prince. I’m a Flowers and yet I am escorting a highborn to her horse. You were a Stone and yet you are the trueborn daughter of the oldest noble families in Westeros. We’re all blood and bones at the end of the day. Why should I treat you any differently from yesterday?” he asked her.

“You shouldn’t,” Sansa agreed. “I can see why Jon keeps you all so close to him.”

“Aye, we help him keep his good humor and bright smile,” Satin said with a grin, making her laugh. “It isn’t easy for him, being around stuffed up nobles all the time. We keep him grounded and, more importantly, sane.”

“Well you have my thanks for it. He needs men like you with him,” Sansa said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek before mounting her horse.

“You’ll have my thanks in return if you keep him as happy as he was this morning,” Satin said, kissing her hand and winking before turning to help Lyessa and Eleanor as well.

Once he was gone, she finally looked at her ladies and saw that they were staring at her with awe.

“Out with it,” Sansa said, adjusting her cloak and taking up the reins.

“You’re Sansa Stark,” Eleanor said, her voice quiet.

She nodded, pulling closer to them both.

“It is very important that you keep this to yourselves until we get to the capital and I am presented to the queen,” Sansa said, looking over her shoulder warily at where Petyr was surrounded by his usual guard.

“We won’t tell anyone,” Lyessa assured her.

“We promise,” Eleanor nodded.

Sansa smiled at them both, trusting their word.

“Thank you,” she said before turning to ride towards the front of the company.

Their day ended far too quickly and it was hard to stop once the sun set below the horizon. They could see King’s Landing far in the distance but Jon insisted to his men that they not ride at night. There were bandits on the road even so close to the capital and he would not risk anyone’s lives. Sansa knew it was smart but she felt impatient as they settled in for what would be a long night at their final inn.

“Lye soap, my lady?” Lyessa said, noticing what she’d bought that morning when Sansa settled into her bath.

It was uncommon for a lady, especially since it was not soft on the skin.

“Yes,” she said, holding it in her hand. “I’ll need your help with it.

* * *

King’s Landing looked and smelled just as she always remembered. Her ladies were just as delighted as she remembered being when she first laid eyes on the city. Instead of Baratheon and Lannister colors, there were red and black banners decorating the walls, the three headed dragon as clear as day. In the distance, they could see the Hill of Rhaenys where three very real dragons now took up residence in the Dragonpit.

“Do you think that Prince Jon will take you to see them?” Lyessa asked.

“Can we come with you if you do?” Eleanor said excitedly.

“You can barely stand to look Ghost in the eyes,” Sansa laughed, patting the white direwolf on the head as he strode beside her.

Neither denied the fact but they still talked on and on about how big Daenerys’ dragons might be. There were many eyes on them as they rode towards the Red Keep, a lot of them falling on Sansa. She knew that it may be the direwolf at her side but she was also the only one who wore a hood out of the entire company. The sun was shining brightly above them so there was no true need for it but she still kept it pulled over her head as a shield to cover the paleness of her cheeks. There was nothing to hide her shaking hands, however, as they neared the castle. Sansa pulled her horse up just short of the gates and tried to calm her breathing as she stared at the place that had been her prison.

“They’re all gone,” she said quietly, aware that everyone was waiting for her to enter. “They can’t hurt me now.”

It was that mantra that finally helped her trot through the gates and into the courtyard. Sansa repeated it several times, even when a groom helped her dismount from her horse. She was distracted by her very familiar surroundings when she saw Petyr being taken off in another direction. He managed to look over his shoulder at her, his eyes wide and panicked, before he disappeared from sight.

“He’s being taken to the cells to await his trial,” Satin told her.

“My father spent his last nights in those cells,” she said, knowing now that Petyr must have had something to do with his death. “He was a greater man than Petyr Baelish.”

Sansa took a moment to closer her eyes and remember her father, sending a prayer to the gods that he was at peace with the rest of her family.

“Queen Daenerys is ready to receive you,” the castle steward announced, pulling Sansa’s focus away.

She nodded, gesturing for Lyessa and Eleanor to accompany her more for their sakes than her own. They deserved to see the grandeur of the Great Hall and the queen who sat on the Iron Throne. As they entered the hall, Sansa immediately noticed the biggest change. Rather than tapestries and crowned stags, dragon skulls lined the walls, getting larger as they walked. She thought that Robert Baratheon might have destroyed them after taking the throne but here they were, as imposing as she always thought they might be. There were many people gathered, all parting to make way as she walked towards the dais.

Many were familiar faces, some that stood by while Joffrey’s knights beat her in this very hall. Nearly all of them murmured in surprise as she was announced by the steward. Sansa wouldn’t let them see her falter. Daenerys did not sit on her throne, as Sansa imagined she might, but instead stood at the base of it with Jon at her side. Daenerys’ hair shone in the sunlight that filtered into the hall and her deep violet dress complimented her well. Jon was well dressed in much finer but still dark clothes. She was relieved to see that he did not change much, even as a prince before his aunt’s court. Sansa sank into a curtsy, murmuring “Your Grace” before straightening up to push her hood back. Her eyes met Jon’s as her hair spilled out over her shoulders. He looked surprised and then pleased at the sight of her mostly auburn hair. Some of the dark remained but she looked more like Sansa Stark than she had in a long time.

“Lady Stark,” Daenerys said, taking her attention away from him again. “My nephew spoke happily of your discovery from the moment he arrived. Your reunion has pleased him.”

“It has pleased me as well, Your Grace, as I thought Prince Jon to be dead as well,” Sansa spoke, keeping her eyes on the queen.

Daenerys looked slightly sympathetic though it faded quickly behind her royal mask.

“No doubt one of many lies Petyr Baelish told,” she said.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sansa said.

She was prepared to be questioned on how she could believe so much of what he said but no such questions came.

“You are most welcome in my city, Lady Sansa,” the queen said, nodding at her. “I’ve had apartments prepared for you in Maegor’s Holdfast. I imagine that the prince would be glad to escort you there. I know that you’ve had an arduous journey and I invite you to rest.”

Sansa sank into another curtsy, feeling relieved as she heard Jon descending the dais towards her.

“Thank you, my queen,” she said before taking his offered arm.

It was not hard to keep her head once more as she left the way she came, knowing that all of the people thought she was long gone, that she could not survive this world. Once they stepped out into the yard once more, she took a deep breath and let the tension in her body ebb away.

“I hate that room,” she admitted.

Dragon skulls and a new monarch could not erase all that she’d endured there.

“I’ll do my best to keep you far away from it,” Jon said without questioning her way.

She squeezed his arm lightly, giving him a grateful look.

“I know how to find my way to the holdfast, if you have other business to attend to,” Sansa told him.

“I don’t,” Jon said, looking over at her. “I said you wouldn’t be alone, didn’t I?”

She felt even more gratitude, knowing that she could breathe much easier with him at her side. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!
> 
> tumblr - ladyannabethstark

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to hear what you think!
> 
> You can always message me or give me Jon/Sansa prompts on my ASoIaF sideblog - ladyannabethstark.


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